


Oh we all still die (but what do you leave behind?)

by thereisnocowboyemoji



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: :/, Angst, Character Death, Grief, Major Spoilers, Mourning, Other, i was sad whoops, like yikes, my take on Arthur's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 04:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17717798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisnocowboyemoji/pseuds/thereisnocowboyemoji
Summary: Arthur is on borrowed time and he knows it.So he thinks.





	Oh we all still die (but what do you leave behind?)

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. Sorry if this isn't even good. I wrote it in a funk and just decided to post it anyway. Also I'm really sorry if the dialogue is confusing, arthur's the only one that speaks except for Hosea at the end :) 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy

"Oh Dutch. I gave you all I had."

Arthur wheezes. Desperate, pleading.

It seems that's how he's done anything lately. Going into town feels like a trap, feels like he should always be watching over his shoulder. Like someone is watching him, even more so than usual. He hates going into Saint Denis. He's hated it since they first arrived, stepping in to find information about Angelo Bronte and then he was having to chase those little brats around the whole city after they robbed him. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The taste gets more sour with each visit and it's absolutely rancid by the time he collapses in the street, having to be dragged to that doctor just to be told that he was dying. 

He could've guessed that.

He met a painter in a bar, before that incident. A French guy, an eccentric fellow. His name was Charles and he was talented but every time they talked Arthur always found himself thinking of Albert. He hadn't seen him in several months but he had heard somewhere that he had a gallery, showing off all of his fancy photographs that he and Arthur had taken together. Arthur wishes that he's doing well. 

Arthur blinks, as much as his swollen eyes will let him and he sees a red and black blur, Dutch, and Arthur thinks of Hosea.

Hosea.

The poor bastard never saw his death coming. Or maybe he did. When Arthur thinks about it, Hosea had been quite sick towards the end but he hid it well. Coughing like Arthur had started doing, always into a napkin or his elbow. Growing thin. He remembers, vaguely, that Hosea had been mixing up the same ingredients that Rains Fall had given him when he found out Arthur was sick. Maybe it was better, that Hosea's suffering was cut short, stopped completely by a bullet. 

He thinks about how Micah had probably been expecting someone to die that day, having crawled into camp and burrowed into Dutch's ear like a parasite. Whispering so loud that it drowned out Arthur and Hosea's yelling. 

They should've known. 

Arthur sighs. Hosea had known. John had known. Molly O Shea had known. Arthur didn't want to know, so he ignored what was right in front of him for the longest time. He blindly followed Dutch, wasting his time on the man and his schemes until Arthur was told he didn't have much more time to spare. Ain't life funny like that? 

Arthur inhaled. His lungs rattled.

He thinks of Lenny. He was a good kid. He was holding his own in the camp, learning to ride with the best, learning to work with the best. With Javier and John. Even Arthur. Hell, the kid was teaching Sean to read. Determined despite the Irish man's protests when he felt he wasn't doing good enough. He was a good teacher and Arthur thinks about him every day. He deserved better. 

Arthur exhaled. A wheeze.

He thinks of Sean. That loud mouthed drunk Irish idiot. Arthur loved him as much as he hated him, most days. He missed his ramblings, his off key singing. Arthur even missed when Sean would aggravate him around the campfire, throwing insults and trying to get the older man to loosen up a little. The man closes his eyes and he sees Sean's lifeless body, the fucking gaping hole in his head. 

Arthur's stomach tightened. He inhaled. 

He thinks of Kieran. Maybe he could've been nicer to the kid. Could've stopped insulting him so much just for existing. No matter how much Arthur didn't trust him he didn't think Kieran deserved to go out that way. Shit, no one did. Killed as a message, sent to their camp like he was just some trophy that had been stolen and was being returned.

It made him sick. Arthur exhales. 

He thinks of Molly. Oh, the poor girl. Too high and mighty to do any work around the camp but she wasn't too blind to see that Dutch had been falling for quite some time. But too much of a nuisance for anyone to listen to. Arthur thinks of the bullet hole in her gut courtesy of Ms.Grimshaw. 

He thinks of the bullet hole in Grimshaw's gut, courtesy of Micah. Arthur thinks of them all. He thinks of Eliza and their son. He thinks of their dog, Copper, how his fur felt. He thinks of everyone he's lost and everyone who has ever left him. 

He inhales.

He won't be inhaling for much longer, he knows.

He thinks of John. Of how that scrawny little bastard is hopefully taking his family somewhere safe, getting the hell out of all this mess. Arthur hopes he's running and that he won't ever look bad. 

He thinks of Charles. 

Of Sadie.

Of Mary-Beth and Tilly. Mr.Pearson.

He exhales. 

"I did." 

He hears Micah talk, hears himself respond but he doesn't know what exactly he's said. He knows it's probably just the ramblings of a dying man.

He tilts his head, watching Dutch's feet walk away from him and oh, they've done this dance before. He remembers this same scene in the oil factory, when he was helping Eagle Flies after Dutch tried to lead them to their deaths. He remembers yelling, calling for Dutch and Dutch walking away.

He remembers Dutch calling him son immediately after.

Arthur could laugh. He would, but all of his breaths are already stolen. He's waltzing in borrowed time.

He hears the crunch of Micah's boots on rock as he grumbles, walking away.

Arthur sighs. 

He shifts, pulling himself agonizingly slowly to the edge of the cliff he had been chased to.

He rests against a rock as gently as he can and he inhales.

(This is his last one, he knows it.)

He hears Hosea's voice.

"What about you, Arthur? How do you want to die?"

Arthur turns his head, seeing the miles of land and open sky before him. He feels the cool air against his skin but he doesn't have the energy to shiver. 

"Ah, I don't care about all that nonsense."

He feels weirdly at peace. He's known that this day was coming for a long time now and he finds he isn't afraid anymore. 

"Face me to the west. So I can watch the setting sun and remember all the fine times we had that way."

Arthur exhales.


End file.
